


information's just not going in

by bosspigeon



Series: Chase Kingston: Functional-Passing Disaster [1]
Category: The Wayhaven Chronicles (Interactive Fiction)
Genre: Crude Humor, Drunken Shenanigans, Former Delinquent Detective, Friendship, Gen, Past Detective/Bobby Marks, Past Detective/Verda, Protectiveness, Trans Male Character, Wayhaven Book One
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-14 23:48:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29054679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bosspigeon/pseuds/bosspigeon
Summary: Verda catches wind of Bobby sniffing around the detective again, and, because he cares about his friend, he stages something of an intervention.
Relationships: Male Detective & Soloman Verda
Series: Chase Kingston: Functional-Passing Disaster [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2131623
Kudos: 4





	information's just not going in

**Author's Note:**

> Don’t think too hard about timelines. I started this when I first started playing TWC, and it's based on a dumb dream I had about Verda telling UB way too much about Chase's sex life because he and Chase had A Thing in the past. I kinda split it into two different fics, and this one turned into just "I want this stubborn, angry man to have friends who Care About Him So Goddamned Much."
> 
> Takes place in early book one, in a nebulous time frame after Bobby leaves that voice mail. I also gave Wayhaven two more bars. There was one that was named in-game, but it struck me as more of an "old man having a pint with the lads" bar. I feel like it makes sense for a tiny British town of like 200 people to have three whole pubs. Kinda like how tiny towns in the southern US have like six churches.
> 
> Title from “Bulletproof” by La Roux

The Haven, Wayhaven’s premier bar (one of three bars in the entire town, to be quite fair) is surprisingly busy for a Tuesday night, but it’s still easy enough to find Verda and his husband tucked away in a booth in the corner. Busy or no, there’s plenty of room to make his way over, and he slides into opposite them and leans his elbows on the faintly sticky tabletop.

“Did you really have to bring Eric to read me the riot act, Verda?” he asks, giving the gently smiling blonde a weary look.

“Yes,” Verda responds simply. He steeples his fingers and levels Chase with a steady gaze. “The only reason I didn’t bring Tina as well is because I know you’d see us all, figure it was an intervention, and bolt.”

Chase groans up at the dark ceiling. “I don’t _need_ an intervention! It’s just _sex_.”

“It’s not just sex!” Verda counters. “It’s never been just sex with Bobby! I’ve known you for too long to swallow that excuse, and honestly I refuse to believe you believe it yourself!”

Thankfully, Chase ordered a drink before he sought them out, and he takes a long, _long_ pull. “I didn’t even do anything this time. He managed to make himself _exceptionally_ repulsive, and I didn’t even talk to him. He just… It was a voicemail. That’s all.” He rubs his eyes. “I already have the mayor riding my ass, I don’t need Bobby grunting and slobbering on the back of my neck too.”

Verda’s face scrunches in disgust, and, adorably, his husband mimics his expression without even looking at him. Unluckily for Chase, Verda’s distaste with his crudeness doesn’t stop him from sighing, “It’s never _just_ a voicemail. Or _just_ a text. Or _just_ a phone interview. That’s how Bobby works. His modus _fucking_ operandi! He senses when you’re at your most vulnerable and he uses it to get a leg over. And if he can snoop for information for his tabloid nonsense, all the better!”

“That’s why I only go to his place now,” Chase mumbles, mostly to himself.

Verda gives him a sharp glare. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” the detective says, sitting up straighter and rolling his shoulders.

“ _When_ did you go to his place?” Verda asks, dangerously soft.

He knocks back another half of his drink, because god does he need it, and rubs his face. “It was weeks ago, Verda, please--”

“I’m sorry, _weeks_?” Verda’s voice hitches up a few octaves, and Chase only just realizes that there’s a tall, nearly-empty glass of something that was once brightly colored and likely full of several types of rather strong liquor on the table in front of Verda, and that he is very much in over his head. Verda’s normally a very sedate, put-together man, though he’s never been afraid to speak his mind, but when he’s had a few drinks…

Maybe Chase should have bolted after all.

“ _CHASE RAPHAEL KINGSTON, DID YOU SAY WEEKS?_ ” Verda stands up, and his husband hurries to stand as well and push him gently back down into his seat. He goes without a fight, but he is still clearly _fuming_.

“Quiet down, would you?” the detective hisses. “You know how this town talks!” He glowers at a familiar face gawking a bit at their table (Frankie McGinnis, the groundskeeper at the local park and also one of Chase’s own graduating class) who clams up quickly, turns, and hurries off.

“Weeks, Detective? _Weeks?”_ Verda all but snarls at him. Chase raises his eyebrows and looks to Eric, who just raises his hands and shakes his head.

“It’s not a big deal,” Chase defends weakly.

“When?” Bitten out through gritted teeth. Verda’s glaring daggers at him.

Chase rubs at his jaw, scratching his stubble and avoiding his friend’s eyes. “The night the Chief announced Liddel’s retirement. I knew I was being promoted. I told him I didn’t want it and he told me tough shit. I was tired, I was pissed, and Bobby heard through the grapevine and decided to have me over to _congratulate_ me.”   
  
Eric snorts at the choice of words. Verda just looks... Incensed. “Chase! You have to see that this is not healthy!”

"It doesn't matter if it's healthy or not!" he fires back, and he can't help but get worked up himself, with his coworker all but shouting him down like he's an unruly teenager. "It's not your decision! I'm an adult, and I can make my own decisions about who I fuck! Christ, d'you think you automatically get a say just 'cause I let you have at me too?"

Verda looks as if he's going to say something, but he snaps his mouth shut, his face scrunching, then collapsing. "Is that really what you think of me?" he asks softly.

Chase deflates very suddenly, spine bending, and rubs his face. "Fuck. No, Verda, of course not. I just… I'm sorry, that was awful of me to say. I just…"

"You're not used to people worrying about you," Eric offers, smiling a bit. "It can be overwhelming, right?"

Chase nods weakly. "I'm sorry," he says again. He finishes his drink in one good gulp, and it burns, but he needs the bolstering right now.

Of course, Eric knows he and Verda had their own little fling when they first met, just a sort of stress relief between friends and coworkers, that never progressed beyond that. They're good as friends, aces in bed together, but never really felt the need to take things to a level beyond that. It has, unfortunately, given Verda, and by extension Eric, _far_ too much insight into Chase's habits, but sometimes it's... nice to be known.

At least he's got someone to tell him when he's being a tit.

"I need another drink," Chase groans.

Eric smiles and stands up, kissing the top of his husband's head. "I'll grab the next round. You lads behave."

Chase sighs. "I'm sorry," he repeats. "I… I know you're just worried. But I can take care of myself, Sol." He lifts his head and smiles crookedly. "Been doing it all my life, right?"

"Chase, you have so many tattoos our boss makes you wear turtlenecks in August, you had a criminal record before you turned 18, and you were bullied into the police academy immediately upon graduating college to avoid going to _prison_."

"Hey," Chase snaps defensively, "don't bring the tattoos into this. Everyone and their mum knows I'm covered in more ink than skin at this point, it's not my fault the chief clutches his pearls every time he sees them."

"My point is," Verda interrupts, "is that, perhaps, your life may have gone a bit more smoothly if you'd had someone to rely on other than yourself." He holds up his hand when Chase tries to protest, and presses on, "I'm in no way insulting you as you are now. You are an incredible man, Chase. Sharp as a tack, dedicated and proud, stubborn as all get out, but that's helped far more than it's hindered you. Wayhaven wouldn't be the same without you."

Chase squirms in his seat and looks away, "Verda…"

"I mean it, Chase. This town and the people in it owe you so much, and you deserve to be recognized for that. And you deserve to recognize it in yourself." He leans forward, bright-eyed and intense, "You deserve to feel like you matter to someone other Bobby _Fucking_ Marks simply because he has an uncanny, sharklike ability to figure out exactly when you're at your lowest."

Eric chooses that moment to return with drinks, something fruity and ridiculous for his husband, and a simple rum and Coke for Chase. He sits down next to Verda and snuggles close. "So? How's it going?"

"Fine," Chase mutters. And he sighs gustily. "Verda's right, as usual. I just… Bobby's a prick, but we have history, and as much as I hate to admit it, he knows me too fucking well by now. I know better than to let him into my flat, of all things, but apparently not between my legs."

Verda splutters on his drink and laughs, Eric blushes a bit at the crudness, and just like that, the heaviness of the moment is gone. Verda fumbles for a napkin to wipe his nose, and Chase chuckles.

“If it makes you feel better, I’ve got more than enough to worry about right now with a murder and this Agency nonsense,” Chase mutters around the edge of his glass. “If Bobby decides to make more of a nuisance of himself than usual, I’m very likely to hogtie him and lock him in my trunk for a few hours.”

“Oh, I can’t _wait_ to read his story about that,” Verda snickers. He’s begun to list heavily against Eric’s side, and the big blonde softens visibly.

“I think it’s time to get both of you home,” he says, smiling gently. “Chase, if you drove, I can bring you by in the morning to grab your car.”   
  
Chase sighs and taps his knuckles against the table, but he smiles nonetheless, even if he can’t quite make eye contact. “That’d be aces, Eric. Thanks.”

Eric’s smile widens, warm and pleased, and he nods towards the door and helps his husband to his feet. Chase doesn’t move for a moment, just watching the two of them, Eric with his gentle fussing and Verda weakly protesting the attention, but at the same time visibly preening underneath it like it. Turning towards it like a flower towards the sun. Something in Chase’s gut twists.

He shakes his head, slams the dregs of his drink back, and climbs to his feet, slinging his jacket over his shoulders and following the happy couple to the door. He’s still a bit wrong-footed after their talk, but he stifles it down easily under three decades of practice repressing things like _impulse control_ and _feelings_. If nothing else, he’s glad to have friends like Eric and Verda to look out for him, as much as he’ll let them.

“Hey, Verda?” he calls, his voice coming out a bit rough, softer than he intends.

Verda turns to look at him, wrapped around his husband’s arm and glasses a bit smudged. “Hm?”

Chase blows out a heavy breath that fogs in the air. “Don’t tell Tina about this, would you? I really don’t need _another_ murder case once she decides to go after Bobby herself.”

Verda’s laugh is loud and delighted, echoing out into the otherwise quiet night. Chase stuffs his hands into his pockets and smiles to himself, allowing himself, for once, to take some quiet pleasure in what he’s got.


End file.
